


Something you love

by TwistedNym



Series: Some of us die young [6]
Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14137263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedNym/pseuds/TwistedNym
Summary: "What do you think, boy?" She tilts her head ,her careful braided hair glittering and she reminds him of a peacock. All pride and glory. " That you'll just need to confess your love and you live happily ever after?"





	Something you love

**Author's Note:**

> We're getting slowly into a spiral down. Thanks for sticking with me, people.

The weather is bad. It's raining, and not in the pouring way but in a drizzle, wearing people thin, continuing the whole day. The sky is white and grey clouds, not one bit sun.

Tiny drops of ice cold water are eating through Thomas shirt as he pulls his hood up, closer over his wet hair.

It's bad if you don't have somewhere to go.

The water gets right into all his pockets, drenching all his belongings.

He's glad he has had some common sense and left the most important things in a warm and dry apartment.

It's slowly becoming a problem he's got nowhere to go. If the weather continues like this, he'll be sick in no time if he's not careful. There are several options. He despises every single one of them.

It provides a different problem all together. With no where to go, it's difficult to have dates. And oh yes, he finally has reached the point to convince himself this IS a very strange relationship. Not like he'd brag about his boyfriend or wouldn't dare to say the word out loud. He does it one time when he's at Farley's.

It's more subconscious than anything. "Yeah well, that's my boyfriend's-" he says and feels equally good as bad.

He doesn't discuss it. It's kind of out of question with Maven's status and all. And maybe, only a tiny maybe,he feels like Maven should figure it out for himself.

Summer was the perfect time to just wander around. With the autumn storms, the rain and the cold approaching, it's not that easy anymore. It means spending time in closed , confined stores or coffee shops because it's warm. But that also means no touching and another long list of debts. It also means crowds and if there's anything none of them like it's too many people in one place.

Or it means not meeting really at all.

Thomas is dreading the thought and takes the debt.

Thomas tries to imagine him at his home, in the tiny room he shares with his sister, and he has a good laugh. It'd be as mismatched as a frog in a desert. That boy probably never had to share anything. He's not used to have something worn down handed over. Thomas is lucky he got to have some stuff for his own sake when his sister was all dress and skirt phase.

He doesn't wear the shirt Maven has given him very often. He uses it as a pillow or just hugs it tightly, leaning against a cold wall.

It has lost its scent by now, smelling more of smoke and sweat and dirt , but if he closes his eyes he can pretend.

Sometimes Thomas is reminded of his own incompetence when they are hanging out.

"What's all that about?" Thomas stares at the notes spread out along the table, fine handwriting curling over paper. He crumbles a bit of his cookie over the free side of the table.

While eating, Thomas watches Maven's hand sprawl numbers and words over a free corner of a paper.

"It's called studying. " There are dark, grey circles under Maven's eyes. Thomas meant to ask. He couldn't bring himself to in fear it would ruin anything. "And since you wanted to meet, I'll have to do it here."

"Oh yes, right , you are still in that awful prison." He thinks of the day he dropped out. Felt good back then. Now that he stares at the notes , he can't even make sense of it. He feels like a little child. It stings.

He tries to cover it up by stuffing the next cookie into his mouth. Maven still notices. Even a fool could see that it's nagging on him. He looks at all the words and numbers and he can read them, but it doesn't mean he understands.

Maven's hands stop moving and he waits for Thomas to say something.

"I don't get any of that" Thomas admits while scratching the side of his nose. "You're smart. That's good."

"You've got potential , Thomas."

"Yeah," he tries to smile it away. "No one is better at pissing people off."

"No." Maven puts the pencil away and leans his head on his hand. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain and curls along his neck. "You're drawing. You could take lessons."

Thomas brushes the crumbles away, trying to keep his hands busy. Hope is nothing good. He' ll end like all the other faces, forgotten in the gutter. It's sweet and nice that Maven wants to encourage him.

"I'm not half bad but that's a bit much, don't you think?"

"In fact I don't," Maven says. In the grey light he looks as pale as the clouds in the sky and Thomas is really worried. Maybe he's just caught a cold, but then again he looked like shit before, when they were still new. "Remember the one you drew me last week?"

"The bird one? With the flames? Yeah, can't forget. Feathers are tough shit, especially when there's so much shadows to add." He tilts his head. "You still have it?"

Maven knits his brows. Then he opens the notebook he's had sprawled out before him the whole time. Thomas stares at the picture his very own hands have made. He's even made the effort to put it in a sheet to protect it from the weather and stuff.

Protect something Thomas made .

He wants to lean over and just kiss him.

"Maybe I will take lessons." He says, not to disappoint. " Some day."

Their legs touch under the table. None of them flinches back.

The weather clears up after a few days at least. It's still getting colder. The bench remains a sanctuary. Thomas stops by every day on his route, even if he's alone he just sits by the sound of the river and let's the bad feelings go. It's a little like meditation, but he's got no patience for that.

He's not expecting anyone the next time he stops by and is surprised to see a somehow familiar silhouette on the bench. He's seen her only from distance, but she's recognizable enough. Even if she wasn't the mother of the boy he's in love with, he would have seen her on television or in the newspaper. When it comes to fame, the big fishes make a lot of their appearance. She's one of those, brightly coloured and always in the center. He's sure she enjoys it.

She sits on the bench like a queen. Thomas stares at her profile, her legs in boots , heels ready to stab his heart. She's wearing a some sort of suit, hidden under an expensive looking coat and her hair is up in a almost artistic braid, all business-like. Like she just flew back from some fancy meeting.

Thomas still can't move and stares blank.

Her eyes are as blue as Mavens. But they don't hold a quantum of comfort for him.

This eyes could as well belong to a predator. Ready to break his neck and eat him with his blood still hot.

"I started to wonder if you would even show up," she says, almost casual as if they are old friends. Thomas swallows hard. " Sit with me, will you, Thomas? We have much to discuss."

She's scaring him to a point where he needs to chin up to just move. It's ridiculous.

"What," he says and finally sits down as far away as he can. The distance is not enough. Even on the moon he'd be too close. "Do you want from me?"

"Well," she smiles."For instance, we could talk about you and my son."

She's  _defiling_  the bench with her presence. It was a good place. Now it'll never be again.

"Is there anything to say?" Thomas feels his heart cramp in his chest. "We are just friends."

She exhales air in a perfect little mocking laugh. It's the most hostile thing anyone has ever done to Thomas. And he's been beaten up repeatedly.

"Let's play honest, boy, shall we?"

He doesn't answer.

"I've watched you," she says it like complimenting his shirt.  _Like it's what normal people do._  "For quite some time now."

Of course, you did, he thinks. He was warned early enough this might happen. Well, not THIS. He never thought she'd just sniff him out and chat.

The prospect of a hitman doesn't seem far off.

"At first I was sure you were just exploiting my son. But this was never about money. You felt uncomfortable every time he tried to spent money on you."

"That's good old me." He tries to sound chipper. In truth, he wants to vomit. "Don't say you thought you could buy me off, Mrs. Merandus."

"People have their price, be it money," her eyes are dangerous blue shards. They are ready to cut him. "Or something else entirely."

"That's a very.." he searches for the right words. Come on, Thomas, your mother didn't raise a stupid. Well, maybe she did, you still know some things. "Eh, practical attitude, Ma'am."

"I appreciate you are at least trying to imitate manners. My son's influence, I am sure."

Well, he knew she'd hate him. He feels like that's going to be the only thing they agree on. Mutual dislike for the other.

"I had good parents, y'know." he feels the need to defend his upbringing in front of the embodiment of his bitterness.

"Believe me when I say I know all about your family." There's danger lurking behind her voice. The cold is almost radiating and Thomas feels the visceral need to flinch.

She smoothes over a crinkle in her sleeve and looks back at him. She might as well see right through his face. "I didn't quite understand his interest, but then again, it was but a matter of time until some act of defiance. And who would be a better match, better to test my patience than a poor Red boy, being estranged from his family and living on the streets?"

"You think that's what this is?" Thomas is conflicted, caught between laughing and shaking, and so it's a little nervous chuckle that escapes his mouth. "Some rebellious shtick to piss parents off?"

"What do you think, boy?" She tilts her head ,her careful braided hair glittering and she reminds him of a peacock. All pride and glory, and intimidating." That you'll just need to confess your love and you live happily ever after?"

Her words hunt down something inside him. They gnash it between their sharp teeth and leave him bleeding. "Yeah, no. I know that's not how it works."

"We can agree on that," She crosses her legs. The dark blue fabric of her coat rustles as its parts. "You are nothing special, just a face in a million. Below average, even. When he grows up he'll forget you. Because we both know this will not last."

A wave in the pool, a flinching shoulder, an 'I don't know'.

"You'll never be  _enough_ , my dear boy." She sounds so certain. And it's like she has pulled all his doubts right out of his head. "Not for yourself. Not for your family. And not for my son. Spare yourself the pain and make it a clean cut."

Maybe she's right. It's not like she says anything he hasn't told himself yet.  _My life is a mess. I'm not good enough. Better no one sees what trouble I make this time._

He can't move. He just watches her, beside him but so very above.

"I'd suggest you take your leave, Thomas. Go back to your family, I am sure they miss you deeply."

There's hurt, but also a very protective feeling rising up and flaring. It makes him straighten up. Half defeated but still struggling to keep up.

"Or else, Ma'am?"

"The world is a cruel place, " she says, looking out at the river. "Especially for someone so young and lost."

The thinly veiled threat gets right under his skin. Her hand stops him, finely manicured nails and silver rings.

"I don't expect any answers." She gets up, heels clicking. "Just think about it, boy. And make a wise choice."

With that, she takes her leave and he just watches, not able to say anything that convinces her or himself that at least some parts of what she just told him aren't true.

With a graceful stride, she pulls her coat behind her like a cape, cool breeze sending it fluttering. Then she's gone.

Her words, however, remain at his side.

"Do you think I am exploiting you?" Thomas asks, voice low. They stand between the shelves in the bookstore, hidden from view. He's still not too fond of books or reading, but it's so quiet and peaceful. When he gets close enough to the bookshelves, it smells a little of fresh printed paper and ink. A smell Thomas has learned to appreciate. He'll always associate that with Maven.

"Exploiting me?" Maven looks up from some flashy neon envelope in his hand. "No one was ever more allergic to friendly gestures and gifts than you."

Thomas sighs. "I mean, like emotionally? I can be pretty touchy."

"Not in public, at least." Maven looks back and turns a page.

_This will not last._

It's a very persistent voice. Truth is he knows it. It's too peaceful. It's too good and too much.

"Am I just a phase?" The words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Maven frowns at him. "Come again?"

"A phase," Thomas repeats. "Like a piercing or blue hair."

"I am not discussing this in the middle of a store." There's something mildly horrified in the way Maven watches him fidget around. Like he cannot believe Thomas is willing to cross that border.

"You know, if I was just that, I'd be cool with it. But you could just tell me." He makes a nervous sound in the back of his throat. The doubt eats through every thought. It's unsettling and will not stop. "It's not like I have any right to demand something."

"What is wrong with you today?" Maven asks brow furrowed slightly.

Thomas shakes his head.

What is he supposed to answer at that?

 _Is your mother nuts?_  Nah, no good start.

_Oh, by the way, your mother told me very subtle I could be lying in a filthy ditch soon._

Is she right though?

There aren't many choices to find out.

Thomas presses his tongue against his cheek to stop himself from blurting words out he might regret.

The words won't leave him alone. He doesn't even notice the cars racing by because he stands too close to the edge when they wait for the traffic light until a hand pulls him back.

"I'm alone this Saturday." Maven says. "You could come to my place again."

"Yeah," Thomas says, barely able to listen. He feels numb, as if his whole body is sleepwalking, his head in the haze. " Sure thing. Why not."

He's not as nervous as he enters the gate this time. He's still uncomfortable, but his head is too far away to recognize most things they pass. Down the narrow alley , along the fences where they stopped last time, Maven takes his hand. Thomas grips it so tightly he feels like he's crushing the warm fingers.

"It's a dinner party. I should have gone, but I said I had work to do for school, so they let me off this time." The way he says it implies a serious distaste.

"You're a filthy liar." Thomas jokes half assed.

"My mother wasn't fond of the excuse, but she's been busy, so it worked."

Very busy, Thomas thinks. At the mention of Elara something in his stomach twists violently.

"Your brother there too?"

"Well he didn't have time to make an excuse, so yes."

Those blue eyes watch too much. Thomas tries to shake the feeling off, but he can't.

As much as he hates himself for it, he let's go of the hand.

"So we've got what? Two hours? Three?" he asks to distract them both.

"You've never had the pleasure to attend one of those parties," Maven sounds lenient when he scoffs softly." so let me just say it would take that much time to get through introductions. And since my family is going to be in the spotlight, as always, we'll have the whole night."

"True, I'm just some low life criminal, I don't go to fancy parties." He kicks a stone over the street. "Or wear suits that could feed my family a month. Or drink sparkly drinks with little umbrellas in it."

"The image of that is priceless."

Thomas thinks about it before he smiles the first time since he met Maven's mother on the bench. "Yeah, pretty. I'd probably rock the suit and clean the food before the dinner even starts."

They have a good little amused moment, and for a second he forgets the insecurities. When he sees the black camera and the house again, it all comes back, pulling in with the force of a bulldozer.

She's right when she says I don't belong, he thinks. Now that the words have entered his brain, they won't let go and she haunts him. Because he does just step into her house, after all.

The floor feels even colder under his feet. The colourless surroundings are draining his life out of him.

Thomas can't stop the sigh from escaping his lips. "But that's not the reason we hang out, is it? Because I am different?" Because it would anger everyone if they knew?

"You are different."

It's meant as a compliment, he's sure. He cannot help himself and take it as something else entirely.

" Thanks, Mave."


End file.
